Shotgun Blues
by Elianna22
Summary: Most weddings are joyous, festive occasions. Other weddings start out that way. Then violence ensues.


**A/N: This story is loosely inspired by something that happened at a wedding I recently went to. Enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: Disney owns the Suite Life characters. I own everyone else.**

**Thanks as always to beta-reader Waldojeffers.**

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Shotgun Blues

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_So many adventures couldn't happen today  
So many songs we forgot to play  
So many dreams are swinging out of the blue  
We let them come true _

_Alphaville, "Forever Young"_

[-]

"Ugh," exclaimed Bailey Pickett-Martin, her mouth puckering as if she'd bitten into an onion. She frowned at the glass Woody had handed her. It was filled with a neon-green liquid and topped a parasol. "What the feathers _is_ this?"

"A Lime Sunset," said Woody Finkwright. "It's the cocktail Connor and Heather drank the night they met." He turned to Zack, holding out another glass. "Here, have a Conther."

Zack Martin accepted the murky blue concoction. "A Conther?"

"Simon designed it specially for the wedding," said Woody. "It's got Grey Goose vodka, which Connor likes, blue curaçao, which Heather likes, sweet and sour mix, and pineapple juice, which they both like."

Zack took a sip. The Conther was far too sweet for his liking. He would have preferred a beer.

"Simon has a genius for details," chirped Addison Finkwright, née Cartwright, sipping her own Lime Sunset.

"He certainly is a genius." Bailey's brown eyes shone as she gazed around the banquet room at the twists of green and white crepe decorating the doorways and tables, elaborate tulip centerpieces, and dancing couples. She sighed. "This is the most beautiful wedding I've ever been to."

Zack could not dispute this. Simon Fink and his team at Simon Says Party had transformed the South Clubhouse at Brentwood Country Club into a wedding wonderland. Adding to Simon's credibility as a top-rated event planner, the wedding itself had unfolded without a hiccup, from the ceremony, held outside in the cooperative April sunshine, to the five-course dinner, through to the speeches—the dullest part of any wedding, in Zack's opinion—and cake-cutting. The highlight of the speeches had been that of the best man, Farshad Nazarov. A scoundrel with charm to spare, Farshad had entertained the 150 guests with tales from his nineteen-year friendship with Connor, affectionately calling him his partner in crime and his Jiminy Cricket.

Woody looked toward the stage, where a jazz band grooved, pumping energy into the room. "Simon couldn't track down the band that played at the party where Connor and Heather met, but he put together the exact same playlist."

"This is his fifteenth wedding of the year," Addison said. "Did I mention he was just voted one of _L.A. Magazine_'s Top 30 Under 30?"

Zack and Bailey nodded. Addison had indeed mentioned this. Several times. The Finkwrights may have earned numerous accolades as the First Couple of Adult Entertainment, but their proudest accomplishment was unquestionably their son.

Tucking an arm around Addison, who had a figure like a voluptuous coat rack, Woody said, "Of course, we are a little disappointed that Simon doesn't want to take over the family business." They both shrugged, as if to say "Oh well, what can you do?"

"I'm just so glad Connor and Heather finally tied the knot," Bailey said, watching the newly-weds twirl on the dance floor. "Five years is an eternity to be engaged. I think I'm actually ready to be a Grammy." She took a mouthful of Lime Sunset and grimaced, the skin around her eyes crinkling. "Wow, it feels weird to say that out loud."

"They are an adorable couple," said Addison as Connor spun Heather in a circle, then clasped her to his chest and dipped her. "Simon still feels guilty for almost breaking them up at their Jack and Jill party all those years ago."

"He should," said Zack indignantly. Heartbreak was a rite of passage, as inevitable as taxes and being forced to eat Brussels sprouts as a kid, yet listening to Connor sob after the wretched party had tugged fiercely on his heartstrings. He would have given anything to crawl through the phone and comfort his little boy, even though he strongly disapproved of Connor rushing into marriage with a girl he had known for only six months. It had taken the couple a long time to weather the strain of Heather having a secret past. Seeing them now, smiling dreamily at each other, gave Zack a much-awaited sense of peace.

"Connor has _no_ reason to complain," Woody interjected, shaking his head so that brown curls covered his eyes. "So what if Heather did a few movies for Woodman Studios before she met him? She's extremely talented."

"Extremely," supplied Addison, nodding.

Woody nodded, too, with alarming enthusiasm. "That girl can suck a golf ball through a–"

Lime Sunset spurted from Bailey's mouth onto the front of Zack's blue Army dress uniform.

"Thank you for that, Woodmite," Zack said. He clapped a hand on Woody's shoulder. "Now why don't you go check out the dessert buffet?"

"Hurtful," exclaimed Woody. The porn mogul rubbed his biceps while Bailey continued to splutter. "You know buffets hurt my buffness."

"I'm sure you can make an exception just this once," Zack said pointedly.

Addison took the hint. "Come on, you big stud, a little sugar never hurt anyone," she said and began to drag Woody toward the spread of puddings and tarts that had materialized across from the bar. "Especially not me," she added, winking at her husband/business partner.

"Oooh, let me get that off your Purple Heart," Bailey cooed, taking a napkin from a nearby table. She dabbed at the splotches on Zack's chest, pausing to run her fingers over the row of medals that decorated Zack's left lapel. She lingered on the Purple Heart, tracing the ribbon and gold heart with a fingertip.

"I love my man in uniform," she said and sidled closer to him, so that her chin rested on his shoulder.

Zack brushed his fingers through the chestnut hair that hung to her shoulders in a glossy, blow-dried bob. "Lucky for me."

"You know," she said softly, "this kind of reminds me of our wedding."

Zack raised an eyebrow at her—his "sly-brow" face as the kids called it. "In what way?" he asked. "Nobody is wearing an Elvis costume, and the bride and groom are still dancing. On their feet."

Bailey smothered a giggle with her palm.

They could in fact have been at a high school dance, swaying under the stars on the _S.S. Tipton_, instead of at a snooty country club for their son's wedding. Their twenty-seven-year-old son. Zack gulped down the rest of the Conther. If he squinted, tilted his head just so, and tuned out the jazz, he could replace Bailey's matronly mauve wrap gown with a cute T-shirt dress. He could even see himself in the DJ booth howling away as Wolfman Zack, spinning the hits of yesterday, yesterday, and yesterday. Or was he Grandmaster Zack, kicking it old school with the wheels of steel?

Before he could decide, a short figure careened into his field of vision. A short figure sporting an untucked dress shirt and a very crooked necktie. Kieran, the baby of their brood, last seen playing tag in the lobby with his newest Tipton-Martin cousins, Chipo, Chuma, and Chenzira—triplets London had adopted from Zimbabwe.

"Woah." Kieran let out a shout as he skidded on a puddle of Lime Sunset, and Zack grabbed his armpits just in time to stop him from colliding with Bailey's legs.

"Having a good time, K?" he asked, hoisting Kieran into his arms.

The seven-year-old nodded. Chocolate sprinkles crusted one corner of his mouth—evidence of a visit to the dessert buffet. His mouth opened then, displaying the gap where until last week his two front teeth had been, and he yawned expansively.

Bailey licked her thumb and rubbed the sprinkles from Kieran's mouth. "I guess I should take him up to our suite," she said with a small sigh. "It's way past his bedtime."

"No," Kieran protested, even as his head slumped to Zack's shoulder.

Zack scanned the crowd, his brain racing for an alternative. The reception had segued into what he thought of as no man's land—the in-between stage when guests who were not inclined to party started to drift away, and those who were inclined to party swarmed to the bar for their fourth, fifth, or tenth round.

_Bingo_, he thought when he spotted Shilah standing at the edge of the dance floor with Stella, the oldest of Cody and London's children.

It gave him a pang to see Shi—lanky eighteen-year-old Shi—looking like a willowy blonde in her light-green bridesmaid dress, with her hair done up in a complicated swirl. The dress had short puffy sleeves and a low-cut neckline that showed off more of her shoulders and sternum than Zack would have liked. A lot more. But since when did the father of the groom have a say in what the bridesmaids wore? Since never. Thus he had to content himself with shooting death-ray glares at any male eyes that roved in the direction of his daughters.

He carried Kieran over to Shi and Stella, a regal, raven-haired beauty with sculpted cheekbones and a haughty expression that telegraphed, "I am better dressed than all of you. Including the bride."

"Shi, honey, can you take you brother to Aunt London and Uncle Cody's floor at the hotel," he said smoothly. London had brought a fleet of nannies to look after the youngest Tipton-Martins. "Your mom and I have to go meet and greet some late arrivals."

"Really?" Shi's dubious tone suggested she was trying to assess whether he was asking her or telling her.

"I'll go with you," Stella jumped in. With a disdainful sweep of her hand, she gestured to her dress, a crimson floor-length gown covered with ruffles and bows. "I've been wearing this outfit for, like, five hours. It's _so_ time to change."

Zack rolled his eyes. London, all over again. "Where's Mel?" he asked Shi, glancing about for her bubbly, brunette look-alike.

Shi shrugged, her puffed sleeves rustling. "I don't know, I haven't seen her for a while. Should I use my twin telepathy to find her?"

"She's probably out playing golf," said Bailey.

The doors had been opened, letting in a cool evening breeze and shouts of laughter from the putting green.

Kieran yawned again, his eyelids drooping lower and lower.

"Fine, let's go," Shi relented.

"Good night, sweetie." Bailey kissed Kieran's forehead, and Zack tousled his shaggy blond hair before setting him on the floor.

Shi took Kieran by the hand and the three of them turned to leave, with Stella's bodyguard, a stone-faced woman who had at least two dangerous bulges under her uniform, following at a measured pace.

"The night is young," Zack announced to Bailey once they were out of earshot. He drew her to him and grazing her cheek with his lips, he murmured huskily, "And so are we."

Bailey's girlish giggle made his stomach tingle. "Well, forty-five _is_ the new thirty," she said. A flirtatious smile played on her lips, as beestung and Botox-free as the day Zack met her.

The music hummed and swelled, a silky fusion of jazz and techno beats.

"Nice music," he said.

"Yeah, I like it, too."

Bailey moved her chin back to Zack's shoulder as they rocked together, their arms around each other.

"Hey, this place is a clubhouse," he remarked as if the fact had occurred to him at just that moment.

Bailey followed his eyes to the staircase that led to the lower level. "Didn't Simon point out some change rooms downstairs when he gave us that tour yesterday?"

_Yep, we're on the same page. _In a casual tone he said, "Rings a bell."

"Do you want to...?" She held his gaze lingeringly.

"Meet you down there? Men's room. Five minutes."

Bailey flashed a saucy, I-know-what-you're-thinking grin. "Make it ten."

Her fingers slipped through his, gave his hand a parting squeeze, and then she disappeared, swallowed up by dancing bodies.

The staircase was on the other side of the room. Zack began to skirt the perimeter, passing Cody who was talking to Heather's parents—about investment strategies, no doubt. Cody had helped them rebuild their finances after a stock market crash wiped out their savings, spurring a cash-strapped Heather to seek employment with Woodman Studios. Good old Cody, always willing to lend a hand to the tired, the poor, the huddled masses.

The only other people Zack recognized were Peter, the man of honour, who was dancing with his partner, and a few of Connor's coworkers from the Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace, where Connor was in charge of fundraising initiatives for the West Coast. Everyone else blended into an amorphous cast of characters populating the life Connor had built for himself in Los Angeles.

[***]

Four minutes later, Zack sauntered through the men's change room, breath freshly sprayed, his pulse speeding with anticipation.

As he approached the showers, a bank of eight stalls, each with its own curtain, he heard a giggle.

A soft, inviting giggle.

Very feminine.

Coming from the furthest stall.

_I knew it_, crowed his libido triumphantly. _I knew she'd get down here first._

"Hey, sweet tha–"

Zack broke off when he heard the rumble of male laughter.

What the hell?

Whipping aside the shower curtain revealed a girl sitting on the bench. A brown-haired girl in a light-green dress with puffed sleeves, ringlets escaping from her updo, and a man's lips attached to her neck. The same man whose hand was creeping up her exposed thigh. Her head was thrown back and her eyes, blue and glassy, grew wide as she realized what was happening.

"Dad–"

"You little shit." Zack had yanked Farshad from the stall by his collar and slammed him against the wall before Mel could finish stammering, "It's not what you think."

Zack's heartbeat thundered in his ears. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he snarled into Farshad's face, every atom in the space between them charged with history. He moved in, close enough to see the smudges of lipstick on Farshad's mouth, the stubble sprouting from individual pores on his smug, square jaw. Close enough to smell the gin on his breath.

"Sir, it's not, it's not what you think I swear," Farshad slurred. His black eyes darted wildly and Zack felt his larynx quiver as he pressed his left forearm harder across Farshad's throat.

"I think it's EXACTLY what I think it is." Zack tightened his grip on the collar of Farshad's thousand-dollar tux. "After all my family has done for you, you go and pull this crap. You've really crossed a line." _Not just a line._ _You're so deep into enemy territory, you're hiding under the planning table in the strategy room._

His eyes flicked to Mel, who stood trembling and white-faced. "Mel, call the cops," he ordered.

"But, Daddy, I'm of age," she sputtered. "I can do what I want."

"No." Zack glared at her. "So that they can get here before I kill him." The last two words came out in a growl, his right elbow rearing back already, the skin over his knuckles stretching taut as his fist aimed at Farshad's high-arched nose.

Farshad blanched. "Not the face, not the face," he wheezed, wriggling ineffectually. He was six feet tall and had an athletic physique, but his gym-toned muscles were no match for military training. While a shotgun would have come in handy, Zack could have knocked him out by applying just the right amount of pressure to his carotid artery. Once you learned how to kill a person with your bare hands, you never forgot. The knowledge imprinted on your mind, alongside how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

Mel sprang forward, crying, "No, Dad, don't." She grabbed hold of Zack's elbow and hung on, her strength formidable though not sufficient to budge his arm, and with her free hand, she reached up to turn his chin toward her.

"Daddy, just please stop," she said, tears leaking from her eyes.

What father could withstand his daughter's pleas?

Not Zack.

The red fog abated. All the air expelled from his lungs and he loosened his hold on Farshad's collar, enough to let him breathe again. "You're lucky," he hissed, narrowing his eyes, and shoved Farshad away from the wall. "Now get the hell out of here."

Farshad didn't need to be told twice. He stumbled to the door without a backward glance.

Just as he exited, Bailey walked in, fluffy-haired and smelling of her favourite perfume.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw Mel and Zack.

"What happened?" she asked.

Zack couldn't look his wife in the eye. He couldn't look either of them in the eye.

"Ask _your_ daughter," he told her and with that, he turned sharply on his heel and left.

Mel burst into sobs when he passed her and threw herself into Bailey's arms.

"I need a drink," he muttered, letting door bang shut behind him as he headed to the stairs. "I'm too old to deal with this bullshit."

****The End****

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A/N: Gotta love those wacky wedding hijinks—just add gin and stir up trouble. But as Mel said in her email to Connor in _Caught One Handed_, she did want to walk down the aisle with Farshad at Connor and Heather's wedding. At least Connor and Heather appear to finally be on their way to happily ever after. Thank you so much for reading, you guys, and a happy, spooky Halloween to everyone who is celebrating this weekend. Love from Ellie – Xoxoxoxo  
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